


Battle Wounds

by OneLastMiracle



Series: Batfam Fables [6]
Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, DCU
Genre: Gen, batfam, cute babes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-09
Updated: 2015-11-09
Packaged: 2018-04-30 20:17:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,007
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5178263
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OneLastMiracle/pseuds/OneLastMiracle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You have so few scars.” Damian, a note of condescension in his voice. “Further proof I’m better than you, Drake.”</p><p>“You’re proud because you’ve been hit more? Damian, perhaps you need to learn what the point of fighting is. It’s to not get hit.”</p><p>AKA Shirtless Brotherly Bonding</p>
            </blockquote>





	Battle Wounds

It wasn’t often that Tim was undressed. In the manor, dress was required by Alfred, in his apartment, he hadn’t gotten into the habit of being nude( with as many unplanned intrusions as he got, it’d just get embarrassing), down in the cave it was far too chilled to walk around shirtless- not that it stopped Dick.

After a long night out, Tim had decided to shower and retire to the Manor; his apartment was north Gotham, and it was much too far away to collapse into easily. As he strolled through the cavern, he heard a repetitive thumping, the familiar slapping of bare fists against a punching bag. Ah, right, Robin had been side lined, and Damian was taking it out on a defenseless bag of sand.

Tim stripped off his shirt as he walked- he’d had an unfortunate run in with the sharp end of a blade. It wasn’t enough but to ribbon his shirt and undershirt, the skin underneath smarting a thin pink line. He tossed it to the pile. Poor Alfred, the ‘ruined uniform’ pile was getting larger and larger. Criminals these days were getting more dangerous- or the capes were getting more careless.

 The beating stopped as Tim headed for the showers.

 “I have never seen you without clothes, Drake.” Damian’s voice mused, somewhere on the other side of the training area. He sounded as though he was just realizing it.

Tim turned toward him. “I hope that wasn’t an invitation.”

Damian scowled in response, lip curling. “I have seen far more impressive than you. Hell, _I’m_ more impressive than you.”

The sad bit was, he was right in some aspects. Tim had always been slender; Dick was fairly broad shouldered, but Bruce and Jason were both barrel chested. Damian had inherited some of his father’s physique. His shoulders were already wider than Tim’s were at his age. Come a few years time, and he was sure Damian would be as stacked as the rest of them. And for his age, Damian was sure a little powerhouse. But Tim ignored the bait, continuing across the cave. Damian followed him.

“You have so few scars.” The younger noted, a note of condescension in his voice. “Further proof I’m better than you.”

He was looking for a fight. Something that would react better to his hits than a bag of sand. “Oh, yeah? What makes you say that?” Tim asked slyly.

Damian took off his shirt, proudly showing off his collection of scars. In the year and a half that Damian had been Robin, he’d already collected far more than Tim ever did. Many white lines crossing over his upper arms. A few wider bands of scar tissue across his stomach and sides. The gunshot wound where Jason had shot him before.

Under those scars the white and bold ones, were darker ones. Ones they didn’t speak about because he had gotten them before Robin. Tim knew what they were, punishment of misspeaking, of failures, of emotion. Burns scarred dark. They were hard to look at.

To anyone else, a twelve year old with this many markings would be warrant for abuse and CPS called. To him, Damian wore them as badges. As merits won at the side of the Batman. Something felt unsettled in Tim’s stomach when he realized that.

“You’re proud because you’ve been _hit_ _more_? Damian, perhaps you need to learn what the point of fighting is. It’s to _not_ get hit.”

A slow look of comprehension passed the younger boy’s face. Tim couldn’t hide his small smile.

“What’s this I see? A shirtless party?” Dick’s voice rolled through the cave, and he appeared at the entrance, shirt in hand. “It _was_ getting hot out there.”

Tim accompanied Damian’s groan with an eye roll of his own. Damn exhibitionist. But, that said, it wasn’t like Dick didn’t have something to be proud of. He’d been born and bred for a life of athleticism. The asshole was the most flexible in the entire caped community, he knew; they’d measured.

Dick trotted over, plopping an arm around Tim, his skin much warmer than Tim thought it should be. “So we comparing scars? Comparing battle stories and such?” His grin was blinding.

Damian tutted. “Grayson, this is hardly fair competition. You’ve been around for more than a decade.”

Dick feigned hurt, gasping and putting a hand at his mouth as if he had a fan- a wonderful impression of a proper lady’s offense. “Damian! Are you calling me old?”

The smallest bat nodded. “You’re ancient.”

“Never insult a lady with her age, Little D!” Dick’s grin widened. “Besides, I have the best stories behind _my_ scars!”

Behind him, sauntering into the cave, Jason called out. “Are you gonna tell ‘em the lion story again?” He too was shirtless, his leather jacket thrown over his shoulder. Tim was beginning to wonder if there had been a new shirtless rule Bruce was enforcing, with all the nudity in the cave.

“Jaybird, you’re gonna ruin it!” Dick mocked a pout, but throwing a very heavy punch. Easily avoided; no point in pulling your punches if you knew they weren’t gonna hit.

Jason held up his hands, walking over before propping himself up on Damian, elbow on his head. He had to lean over a bit to reach the youngest brother. Tim often forgot how short Damian really was. Or perhaps he forgot how tall Jason was. Somethings you never get used to. “Go on then, Dickie.”

The eldest brother twisted so his side was facing the circle that had formed, pointing at a jagged scar, somewhat faded, but still stark against his skin. It was about seven or eight inches long, an inch thick. “I got this when I was five. My parents were practicing their duo act and I was hanging out with Harry, the animal trainer, and we were working on the lions, Simba and Fluffy.” Damian narrowed his eyes at his brother whilst Tim simply raised an eyebrow. Dick shrugged. “For being in the circus, no one was particularly creative.” Jason laughed. “Anyway, so we were training them, and I was part of the act because I was the smallest one we had, so I balanced on their noses and they would walk in a circle.” Another round of disbelief. Dick pointed a finger accusingly. “Hey, you guys have never been in the circus. Its full of OSHA violations, and I love every single one. Anyway, so while I was doing that, someone fired the cannon and scared Simba. First time in the hospital, it was actually pretty cool.” Dick finished, seeming proud of himself.

Jason snorted, unimpressed. “You wanna talk about cool scars, I have the coolest one.” He traced the long, ragged scar along his collarbone to his solar plexus, and up again. “Autopsy scar. No one else that has this has lived to tell about it.” The Y shaped scar was the most obvious one on his body- and that wasn’t for want of competition: Jason had more scars than the rest of them, his body a lattice work of white. He also had more gunshot wounds than any would care to count or admit. Being reckless was Jason’s forte, and Tim supposed that should come with a few stipulations.

He also took care to note a few of the darker scars, far too similar to Damian’s to be coincidence. A shiver went down his spine. The al Ghul’s and League of Assassins were harsh masters, and Tim realized _why_ their assassins were so well trained, obedient to the last. Tim felt an unwilling sympathy rise for his two brothers.

Damian made a face. “Doesn’t count. You have to be _alive_ for it to count as a wound, Todd.” Tim winced, knowing the argument about to ensue would likely result in new scars for both.

Dick stepped in, dismissing the tension with a shake of his head. “Sorry Little Wing, but lions are cooler than death.”

“Dick, usually lions _are_ death-” Began Tim.

“Why is everyone half nude in my cave and talking about lions?” Bruce’s voice toned as he strode past them without a second glance. Once again, Tim was keenly aware they were all stood in the middle of the cave, suspiciously missing clothing that was strewn about the ground. Maybe there was a hex against shirts.

Jason called over his shoulder, “Just talking war stories. I bet the old man’s got plenty. Let’s see B.”

Dick and Damian looked on, encouraging nods tipping their heads. The cowl stared unmoving back at them, for almost a full minute before Bruce cracked the smallest smile.

He removed the cape, cowl, and half uniform. Bruce’s chest and shoulders were nearly entirely white; laced with scars. His skin was a patchwork of pale white and faded dark, there was hardly anywhere he had his normal pigmentation. Further up his neck, Tim spotted a worrying amount of scars along the jugular- never enough to strike home, but still the reminder of death loomed just above his collar. It was times like these Tim remembered how old Bruce was, how long he’d been doing this for.

“Impressive, Father.”

“Damn, B.”

“Hey, is that from the chandelier?” Dick had approached his father, pointing at a thin scar along Bruce’s forearm. “It was so long ago, I’d forgotten.”

Bruce nodded, pointing out another one, small in the vastness of his space, but still noticeable. “And here’s where _someone_ broke my rib with a tire iron.”

Eyes went to Jason, who shrugged. “I stand by my actions.”

Bruce opened his palm, tilting his wrist towards the group. Tim looked away. “That’s where acid got spilled on me while experimenting.

“Sorry.”

Batman shook his head. “Don’t be. It’s a story. All scars are stories of your life. You can’t get rid of them, but you have them to remind you. It’s a good scar, Tim. As far as scars can go.” The pointed look Jason got from Bruce was pointedly ignored.

Dick acquiesced. “Okay, fine. Batman wins again.” He was sulking as Bruce turned to the wall of screens again, returning to work.

Tim turned towards the showers, to continue what he’d set out to do about ten minutes ago (He’d better go before Dick and Jason hogged all the hot water)- before Dick caught his arm, still bare chested. “Timmy, be glad you don’t have many. Jason got his from dying and being an asshole, Bruce got his from two decades of this crap, and Damian was essentially born with his.” He shrugged. “Besides, yours look cooler.” Tim rolled his eyes.

Behind him, Jason and Damian were getting into a spat, unconsciously moving towards the padded training arena. Good, let them go at it- more water for Tim, and more scars for them.

Dick turned to goad the brothers even further, nothing too bad; it was all in harmless letting off of steam.

“Although, you know,” Bruce mentioned casually, not looking up from the bank of computers ”Alfred has battle wounds.”

The brothers all turned, quiet from their squabbling. Dick broke the silence. “Oh yeah... he was in the war wasn’t he?” A small amount of wonder finding it’s way into his words.

“He was discharged on medical leave.”

“For what?” Jason asked.

Bruce kept his smile private, his voice flat. “He was shot seven times in the chest. And has the scars to show for it, if I remember correctly.”

A moment of absolute silence incurred as the four looked at each other, then all took off towards the stairs.

“Alfie!!”

“Pennyworth, remove your clothes!”

“Come on Alfred, show us the scars!!”

Bruce could hear the withered butler’s response, perhaps a hint of amusement lilting his words. “I say, young masters. Clothing is required in the house, and _I_ intend to stay entirely robed."

The answering groans of disappointment _did_ in fact bring a grin to his face.

“Sir,” Alfred called down. “I do believe your children have gone mad.”

Bruce nodded. “I believe you're right."

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, I'm aware that going into the Lazarus Pit would have cleaned Jason of any scars or maladies that he had, but imagine how COOL it would be to have an autopsy scar!
> 
> Also I kind of wanted to get more into the abuse scars Jason and Damian had, but the fluff won out.
> 
> I wanted Tim to have a good story, but tbh i feel like he doesn't take as many hits as the other Robins do. He's much more strategic and avoids it all together, but Jay and Dami are like tanks, they do not gaf.
> 
> Also, yes, Alfred is the most badass out of everyone. This is objective fact and not in dispute.


End file.
